Laughing

Laughing                         4802  (652)

Is Wisecrackers in Merrillville, Indiana, quite possibly the worst comedy club in the world?

I would have to say no, because I haven't worked them all, but as far as weekend rooms are concerned, there's just no reason for a club that is housed in such a top-notch facility (the Radisson Star Plaza) to be in such disarray.

I arrived at the hotel Friday afternoon and checked in, even though it was a little early; I picked up an hour because of the move into the Central time zone and didn't realize it right away.  That left me with a good amount of time to kill.  I decided to go catch X-Men: The Last Stand at the local cineplex, and it was very good from a fan's standpoint.  I don't know how much the average non-comic book reader will enjoy it, but Jack Garner from Gannett news service gave it a 5 out of 10, and I studied film with him while I was in college and trust his opinion.  The movie's definitely not going to be for everyone.  My biggest disappointment, and it's not even really that big, is that Colossus, one of my favorite characters from the comic in the 1980's, was Russian, and in the movie, they really didn't give him an accent, or any speaking lines for that matter.  Also, one of the trademark X-men fighting manuevers is where Colossus would pick Wolverine up and chuck him at an enemy, claws extended, and they called it a "fastball special."  They used it in the movie twice, which I thought was overkill.  The first time was cute, the second time, I felt they were just pandering to the base. 

The shows Friday night were wild 'n' wooly...the first show was pretty vacant, with the few folks who attended hugging the back wall seating of the 125-person capacity club.  Not a good sign.  The group was small and disassociated, and I spent too much time trying to convince them to move up, and they just weren't having it.  We had no mc, so I had to fill both roles.  I wondered during all the torture why the hotel continues to have comedy under these circumstances...the shows certainly aren't making any money, nor are they really entertaining anyone.  If you get 20 people to laugh out loud all at once, it still sounds like you're bombing...all you can do is plow through the set and hope forthe best.

The late show was better, and I went out and hit Meijer's for some late-nite groceries.  The next day, I hunted down a comic shop and picked up All-Star Batman #4.  DC is retelling the Batman and Robin saga, how Batman took on his teen protege after his acrobat parents were murdered by the mob.  It was pretty cool.  I also found some copies of the Marvel MAX line edition of Rawhide Kid: Slap Leather in the three-fer-a-buck bin.  It's pure satire (the mayor of the town is Walker Bush, and he has more of a passing resemblance to Dubya, and there's a character who applies for the deputy's job named Barney Fyfe, and he mentions during the interview that the last sheriff he worked for only gave him one bullet at a time...pure comedy), and also the Rawhide Kid is gayer than gay, which is just funny all the time, especially for the most feared gunfighter in the land.

The shows Saturday night were more of the same, although first show was a disaster in the making.  There was a table of six seated to the left of the stage who felt it necessary to comment on every word of my act, mostly during setups and before punchlines could be delivered, and they were destroying the show.  I asked them to be quiet as nicely as I could, first with gentle heckler retorts, and then with the ever-feared substitute teacher speech.  One woman, a walking blonde hog and the drunkest of the bunch, left, but then returned with the attitude that she was going to face away from the stage and talk just as loud as she could during the show.  I tried to run over her by getting louder, but the sound sytem was set a little low, and there was just no chance.  Finally, I just looked over at them, stopped talking, and folded my arms and leaned against the back wall of the stage.  I knew what was likely to happen, and it shook out like I predicted; the audience tore the hog to shreds and swearing occured, leading to the calling of security and the ejection of her party.  The club, which sported only two employees, reacted as best they could, but when there's only two employees making and serving all the drinks, it's hard to monitor what's going on in the club at the same time.  Like I say, I wonder what the hotel's thinking when they continue to operate a club in this manner.  Oh, and did I mention that there's no advertising?  That means, to me, that the same drunken shouters show up to every show.  You can't win!

Second show was more shouters, but the nice kind, the kind that think they're having a discussion with you, and you can't destroy them, but you have to shut them up.  I waltzed through my act like a three-legged dog running through a burning cornfield, had the best show of the week, and ran to my already packed car and made the 9-hour overnight drive home.  I almost made it, but had to crash out at a truck stop somewhere short of the Pennsylvania border, and slept for an hour until some old sourdough trucker tapped on my window to inform me that my headlights were on.  Luckily, I was only out for an hour, and it didn't run the battery down to where the car wouldn't start, so I shut them off, revved up and hit the road again.

I made it home about 11:30 in the morning, and slept the sleep of the damned.  And again, I lamented to my wife that it's such a lousy club in such a great hotel...I had a sleep-number bed, for God's sake!  I've never seen that feature in any hotel I've ever been to in my whole life, and the number of hotels I've stayed in numbers easily into the thousands.  There's a restaurant on the premises, a Starbucks, an Irish pub, a swimming pool, a workout room, and the club is right in the hotel!  It's a dream gig, except for the fact that the club is run like an afterthought.

So what do I do?  Call the booker?  The club's been run like this for six years or more, what's he gonna do?

Call the hotel?  Talk to the food and beverage director?  He doesn't care, if the club's still making money on the average.  This past weekend, the property was sold out to exactly four parties...three weddings and a family reunion.  The only hotel guests who weren't part of those four functions were J. Scott Homan and myself.  Every guest at the comedy club, except for one well-dressed couple at the late show Saturday, was from the community.  So no matter how you slice it, it's still extra dollars coming into the hotel, but at what cost?  The drunk woman, I was told, was thrown out of the club a few weeks ago for the same behavior.  So why let her back in in the first place?

I throw up my hands.  The only blessing was that I was working on Memorial Day weekend, when a lot of comedy clubs go dark.  But at what cost?

If I didn't have a family to think about, I don't know what my answer would be if Iwere offered work at this club again.  Bottom line, a comedian with no comedy work is not a comedian, even if it's the worst comedy club in the country.

Have a wonderful holiday weekend, whatever that means to you.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Love Will Tear Us Apart

LoveWill Tear Us Apart              4774  (624)

Friday, May 25, 2006-12:38 A.M.

A wiser man than me once said, "Better a hell gig than no gig."  And he was right.

I'm in Spring Lake, Michigan, just a hop, skip and a drunken stumble from Muskegon, Michigan, a delightful little burg on the eastern shores of Lake Michigan.  The scene of the crime is the Spring Lake Holiday Inn, home of Jack's Lounge and the weekly debacle that is Thursday night comedy.  I've played this room five times, and never really done well with the hecklers, drunks and children who seat themselves throughout the room, spacing themselves away from each other like every third person has the bird flu.

Tonight, though, the unthinkable happened.  I had a great show!  And by great, I mean the time flew, the material was working, and the ad-libs were quick and funny.  It's almost like I had a team of writers in my head, and they kept handing down post-it notes with jokes on them for my mouth to say.  Perhaps the late start had something to do with it; our show was at 9:30 rather than the traditional 8:00 start.  

I started out my day thinking that the show was at 8:00, and I had a 490 mile drive in front of me.  Counting on an average speed of 70 mph, I was looking at a seven-hour drive, possible seven and a half, counting on stops for gas, plus traveling through Canada to cut time off the trip and having to pass through customs for inspection.  I wound up not getting to sleep last night until late, so I set my alarm for 8:30 A.M. and decided to take my chances.

I woke up shortly after 8 and decided to get moving.  I showered and packed, and started humping gear out to my car.  I was greeted by the sight of a dead squirrel in the driveway, and not just any dead squirrel; this one looked like the neighborhood cats hunted him down and made a meal out of him.  There was a thing near the carcass that looked like an organ, but I couldn't identify it...picture a mandarin orange slice, except a pale yellow color.  I'm no animal biologist, but I'm thinking it was pretty important to the squirrel to keep him functioning and living, along with his head which was no longer there, either.  I disposed of the critter with the help of a shovel, and I marveled at what a pussy I am when it comes to dead animals.  I suppose that's a good trait to have, what with rabies and all the other animal-based diseases that are out there.  Oddly enough, by the time I got to the Burger King drive-thru, I had no problem ordering the sausage 'n' cheese croissants...I was able to block out the nausea of seeing dead animal long enough to order myself a dead animal breakfast.

The funny thing about seeing the dead squirrel is that currently, we have a squirrel infestation problem in our attic.  They've chewed their way in and have started pulling down our insulation, just causing a general disturbance.  I've been waiting for the summer, when they will probably vacate the attic as being too hot, to seal the hole and not actually trap one of them inside; a trapped squirrel can become a savage fighting machine, and rip holy hell out of your window moldings trying to free itself.  And yet, seeing my rodent adversary ripped asunder, I felt sorry for him.  It made me wonder about the nature of "enemies," how it's easy to hate until we see our nemesis in a weakened, helpless state (or worse).  I imagined the squirrel's last moments alive, with a cat, four or five times his size, sinking teeth and claws into him, biting down hard and shaking the life out of him.  I hate having squirrels in my attic, but never wished this kind of death on them.  I just want them out.  It was a weird way to start the morning.

The trip through Canada and into Michigan was a bitch, because it was good 'n' hot, and I have no air conditioning.  Luckily, it cooled off as I got closer to Lake Michigan, but I had a pretty sweat-soaked shirt when I arrived.  I got slowed down in construction traffic going through Lansing, and just as I crossed over the Canadian border into Michigan, I missed my interchange and wound up caught in a construction detour down around the northern suburbs of Detroit.  I still wound up getting to the hotel here in Spring Lake about two and a half hours before the show, plenty of time to get a nap, shower and a nice salad before showtime.

The NBA playoffs almost made our show less than the success it was, but Michigan's beloved Detroit Pistons wound up beating the Miami Heat to even the series, and it made everyone in the room happy.  The last two or three years, it seems that I'm always in Michigan during the playoffs, and the Pistons have been in the hunt for the championship the last five years or so.  It's better, I suppose, than playing in Phoenix, Arizona in front of hapless Cardinals football fans and looking back into their blank, hopeless faces.

Tomorrow it's off to Merrillville, Indiana, home of Wisecracker's Comedy Club at the Raddison Star Plaza hotel.  It's a cute little gig, but nothing to write home about, and the beautiful accomodations just barely make up for the substandard pay and lackluster audiences.  It's a calendar-filler job, but if I want to keep calling myself a comedian, I feel like I need to be peforming somewhere every week, and getting paid for it.  Wisecrackers fills the bill.

I'm working with headliner J. Scott Homan out of Knoxville, Tennessee.  He's a good comic and a nice guy to work with, and he really knocked it out of the park tonight, despite a drive just a little longer than mine and a good amount of liquor in him.  We should have a fun weekend, despite the Memorial Day holiday and what may turn into lousy crowds, if at all.

Off to sleep now, and another update coming maybe Saturday morning.  Hopefully, no more dead animals to report on.  Or dead crowds.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Theme For An Imaginary Western

Theme For An Imaginary Western                   4753  (603)

Monday, May 22, 206-6:05 A.M.

Wrapping up the weekend in North Carolina, I'm about to head off on my 13-hour drive home.  Compared to the nightmare drive I did last week, it seems like a cake-walk, but it's still a sizeable chunk of driving that will pretty much eat my whole day.  I'm going to work the phones and see if I can't fill in some of the holes in my schedule for July and September and beyond, and that should also help melt away some of the miles by keeping busy.  Don't worry about me, though...I promise to keep my eyes on the road, even if I have to write dates in my calendar while I'm doing it.

Saturday was a good day, I went out and ran some errands, including getting new shoelaces to replace the busted one from Friday night.  And Walgreen's turned out to be the perfect place for such things, along with postage stamps and some VHS movies for my dad.  He's 73 and refuses to switch to DVD, so when I see movies in the old format, I pick them up for him.  I got him a bunch of titles I'm pretty sure he doesn't have, and might enjoy, although "Dogma" might be a stretch.  Still, maybe I underestimate the old man, but I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The shows were great, and I think I'm really understanding how to cater to the Greensboro audiences.  In the past, they've really turned off to me (as soon as the mc announces that I'm from New York, even though it's just Rochester, it means nothing to the Southern ear....New York is New York, and that's it).  Now, I've been there five times, and I really go in and grab 'em from the first line, don't give them too much to think about, and really keep it simple.  It's what they enjoy; think Larry The Cable Guy.

I riffed a line or two that really hit home, and I think I'm going to have to work that stuff into my regular set.  That's one of the benefits of working the road so much, I improvise so much material that I generate it and test it faster than I ever could just working open mics at home.  My first ten years of comedy were so stagnant, I thought I'd never be "ready" (whatever that means) to feature or headline, and now it's so fluid, it's like second nature.

The late show was a knife-fight and a half.  Headliner Shaun Jones and I teamed up with our merchandise, offering a two-fer deal with his DVD and my CD, and we were able to make a nice chunk o' change.  Shaun is an excellent comic, one of the best I've ever worked with, and a super nice guy as well.  We'd worked together a couple of times before, and I just marvel at the ease with which he goes into a room and takes it apart.  He was living in Los Angeles, but moved back to Atlanta, which is probably a good city to base yourself out of...I have to imagine airfares are pretty reasonable out of a hub city like that.

Sunday was a quick run down to Fayetteville, North Carolina...Shaun called it "Fayette Nam," which made me laugh out loud.  It's the home of Fort Bragg, and it's a town full of red-meat, red-blooded, red-state votin' Bush lovers, in other words, I'm a New York Yankee Faggot Jew to them, even though I'm a married Catholic from Upstate...still, that Budweiser bottle that's doing the translating for them doesn't help my case.  When the prosecuting attorney is 100 years of Civil War shame, I'm going to the big Liberal Hoosegow whether I like it or not.  Last night was different, though...I really hit home on the first show, which was packed, and I think I benefitted from a lot of older people in attendance who were more polite, and stabilized the hooligan element of the room.  The second show was sparse, and a little wild 'n' wooly at times, but still nothing I couldn't handle.  Steve, the house mc, gave me a nice little tag line to one of my core bits that's gonna probably be a keeper, although now I have to change the rhythm of the piece to get it to fit in, but repetition will smooth out the bumps, I'm sure.

This week, it's off to Chicago, or rather, the suburb of Merrillville, Indiana, a nice little room just outside of the lawless tire-fire that is Gary, Indiana.  I understand from good buddy Mike Dambra that the management of the Wisecrackers club at the Raddison has changed, and I'm actually happy about that, because I didn't really care for the old guy that used to run it.  He was a nebbishy sort and he always got my name wrong when he introduced me, even though I'd been there a half-dozen times.  We'll see how the weekend shakes out under the new regime.

O.K., I'm about to rub some dirt in it and take a lap.  I get two days off, and then it's off to Michigan and Indiana.  I hope it doesn't get too hot today, I have no air conditioning.  At least my car windows still roll down (knock on wood).

Peace be with you.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Everything Is Broken

Everything is Broken                           4737  (587)

Saturday, May 20, 2006-11:16 A.M.

You know, normally I write this journal, just free-flowing the events of the past few days, and at the end, I come up with an appropriate song to tie the whole thing together.  But today is different; I know so much of what I want to speak about, the theme of the last few days, that the song presented itself before I even started writing; and that song is "Everything Is Broken" by Bob Dylan.

When last I wrote, I was detailing the trip back from Minot, North Dakota, and I failed to mention that my trusty old war wagon, the 1996 Toyota Corolla with no name, had topped the 300,000 mile mark.  It happened somewhere on the New York State Thruway between Buffalo and Rochester, the last leg of the journey home, and I didn't stop to say a few words or offer up a little ceremony, I just soldiered on and arrived home.  For history's sake, and as I hope someday my daughter will read over these journals to find out what exactly her father's life was like (and what killed him at a young age), she'll find out that the car hit that venerable milestone sometime between 1 and 2 P.M., Monday, May 15, 2006.

The car is in great shape, and horrible shape, all at the same time, if that's possible.  Through the dilligent use of synthetic oil, the engine is strong, reliable, and free of wear.  I've blown rods on two other cars due to my ignorance in the importance of changing oil and maintaining a vehicle, and I've decided to have no more of that.

And yet, despite the wonderful, dependable state of the engine of the vehicle, the items that are in need of repair are daunting and insurmountable; consider this:

1.  There is an oil leak in the engine area, and the oil is getting on the timing belt.  Whether or not this will cause the belt to slip off it's moorings (and the vehicle to come to a dead stop) is questionable, but also the effects of oil on the belt causing it's rubber to break down and snap have also been offered as a possibility.  Not good.

2.  The air conditioning is no longer working, as parts of it have completely disintegrated.  Recharging the AC is not a possibility, as the freon would just dissipate into the atmosphere, leaving me sweaty and unrefreshed.

3.  Road salt from several northern winters has begun a slow decay of the radiator.  Just the right hot day and a long road trip and it's goodnight, Bessie.

4.  The rear driver's side door is mechanically frozen into the locked position.  It doesn't open for love nor money.

5.  The trunk no longer opens by key, you must use the interior latch release by the driver's seat, next to the gas cap release.  Through constant use, I snapped the latch off, and had to drill a hole in it and stick a small screwdriver into it as a temporary handle.  Yesterday, pulling into Greensboro, North Carolina, the screwdriver bent and no longer operates the latch.  I had to retrieve items from the trunk by putting the back seats down and crawling in like I was fishing Saddam out of a spider-hole.  Luckily, nothing was bigger than the aperature, or it would have turned into Al Capone's vault back there.

6.  The passenger side seat belt doesn't work, because the latch lost a spring.  I still have the spring, but it's mangled beyond use.  Not a big thing, as long as I don't have any passengers.

7.  My "check engine" light is on.  This might be due to the oil leak, but whatever it is, the light's been on for almost a year.  I just consider it part of my private light show.

8.  The radio doesn't light up with the rest of the dashboard at night when the lights are on.  It's probably just a bulb, but I'm not savvy enough to start opening shit up and trying to replace it.

9.  There's a ding in the windshield, courtesy of a gravel truck in Minnesota, more fun from last week's helldrive back from North Dakota.  I've got full glass coverage, but at this point, what's the use?  The only reason to get the glass fixed is to make it slightly less unattractive to a prospective buyer.

10.  The back reflective lens is cracked, and there's a crumple damage area over the right rear wheel well.  Those defects have been there so long, I don't even consider them.

11.  I'm missing a wheel cover on the back right tire.  One day, I went out to the car, and it just wasnt' there.  That was the beginning of the end.

12.  There are plenty of miscellaneous scrapes, tears and stains in the passenger compartment, some could be fixed with super glue, some not at all, but they reflect 1,000 miles a week on the road for the last (almost) five years.  Shit happens.

Yeah, the car ain't pretty, but it gets me from here to (way over) there.  I honestly don't know if I could find a buyer with all that stuff wrong with it, but to the right person who knows how to fix stuff, it could be quite a gem.  Hey, I almost said that with a straight face!

Not to say that that's the only place where stuff is broken.  Earlier this week, the fan/light fixture in my home office blew a bulb, so I got the stepladder out and went about replacing the bulb.  I changed the bulb, and when I did, a small screw fell out of the unit.  I put it back (I think) in the correct spot, and now the light doesn't work.  The fan still works, which is nice, but that brings the count up to three rooms in my apartment that have switch/fixture problems with the overhead lights.  We have to get an electrician to come in, but the general rule is that we don't have servicemen come to the house unless I'm home, because my wife, mother-in-law and aunt-in-law (who is also our landlord) feel that because they're all female, that a serviceman will try to give them the old dippity-do and screw them out of money for unnecessary repairs because they're female and don't know about such things.  I guess they have a point.

What else is broken?  Well, I guess you could say that my home computer isn't operating up to snuff.  We had to take it in a few weeks ago for a replacement of the video card, and now the video is working fine, but we're getting an error message that our copy of Windows may be counterfeit (that's never happened before) and it's not a big deal, but you shouldn't get something fixed only to find that something else is now wrong that wasn't wrong before it got fixed.  Also, our DVD burner is no long burning DVD's, which means I have no DVD's to sell on the road.  I have CD's for days, so it's not a mechanical thing, but all the tricks we've tried to get it up and running have so far been fruitless.  I'm about to abandon all technology and go Amish, although I'm on the fence about that because I think the beard might itch.

So I'm in Greensboro, North Carolina, working at the Comedy Zone, a club that worships and reveres me, even though they always look at me like I'm a damn Yankee come to hornswoggle them out of money and despoil their women (which, to be honest....).  Last night I found out that Chris Wiles, the local hero/house mc, was on vacation in Europe, so I didn't have to battle over the hump of working with him.  He's well-beloved, and hard to follow.  I do o.k., but not like I'm used to doing.

Instead, Charlotte's own Ryan V. was our host, and he's a good kid, but no Chris Wiles.  I hit the stage and my right foot got caught on a step, breaking my shoelace in two places.  The double-knotted bow ripped right off!  I worked the whole set worrying whether or not my shoe was gonna go flying off.  I planted my right foot and pivoted the whole set like I was a Chucky Cheese band member.  I had a good show, but it was weird, and at the end, I copped to the broken shoelace and got a big round of applause, and when I left the stage, I found the busted part that had fallen off and held it high so that everyone could see it.

I did the second show with a knotted-together mess of a shoelace, but it held.  The second show was a typical Friday late show....young, drunk kids, and plenty of them.  I got a shot of Jagermeister sent up to me moments upon taking the stage, and that was the beginning of the end.  I had a good show, but it was a total knife-fight, and it wasn't like it was just one table that I had to battle, it was everyone.  I finished up and left the building, heading back to the hotel to detoxify myself and get some food.  I was worried about doing the shot on an empty stomach, but as of this morning, I'm o.k.  I'm on a couple of medications that specifically say not to drink alcohol, but it wasn't a big shot and I'm pretty big to begin with, so I took my chances.  I took my regular evening medications, ate some lousy McDonald's food (the only thing open near the hotel) and went to sleep.

Well, what else could possibly be broken?  I'll tell you, gentle reader.  When I arrived here at the luxurious Red Carpet Inn here in Greensboro, I was delighted to see that my room is outfitted with a fridge and a microwave.  I won't be here long enough to use them, but it's a nice touch and an upgrade since I was here last.  But the bathroom sink had no stopper!  I wanted to shave, and need a bowl of water to work over, to rinse the razor, wet my face, etc.  I improvised a stopper by taking a wad of toilet tissue, rolling it to the appropriate size, ie: a bullet-shapped plug to fit the drain.  I wrapped the wad with the plastic wrap from one of the disposable plastic cups, making a semi-waterproof drain plug that lasted long enough for me to shave off six days of beard growth (which, yes, itched like a motherfucker).

I did get one nice surprise, and that is the night auditor recognized me from the last time I was here, and hipped me to the wireless internet that the Red Carpet just got.  He passed me the access code, which I guess they don't hand out to the regular guests, meaning I get to use wireless all day today, and then the hotel that I'm staying at tomorrow in Fayetteville has the wireless.  It's so much more convenient than doing the dial-up thing.

Play nice today, and don't break anything.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Drive

Drive                           4707  (557)

Tuesday, May 15, 2006-8:50 P.M.

WARNING!  If the idea of discussing POLITICS or RELIGION makes you angry, DO NOT READ THIS POST!!!  (Especially the end!)

I'm back home from my nut-busting trip from Minot, North Dakota to Rochester, NY, and it only took me 27 1/2 hours to make the 1,558 mile jaunt.

Saturday night was an unworthy denoument to an otherwise fun week.  After Minot State University graduated on Friday, the town became a ghost city...I swear to God, a tumbleweed (a real tumbleweed like in the movies) hit my car!  I'm not lying!  I laughed out loud like I never have before!  The show was a bust, a small crowd full of the rudest people you'd ever want to get stuck in front of, and a bachelorette party, to boot!  Headliner Fred Bevill left the stage after his set and spit on the ground and vowed never to come back to.....let me try and remember his words exactly....."this piece of shit club."  And he did well!  Fred Bevill's a good comic, and I was glad to share the stage with him this week.  We were going to try and check out the flea market at the State Fairgrounds, but Fred got tired after our Chinese lunch, and I got there exactly 20 minutes after it closed.  Fuck.

I shook the dust of Minot off my heels at approximately 10:30 (EDT), and started off on the long journey home.  I passed through the towns of Velva and Jamestown, North Dakota, the homes of newsman Eric Sevareid and Major League ballplayer Darin Erstad of the 2002 World Champion Anaheim Angels.  I don't know why that sort of thing appeals to me, knowing the celebrity birthplaces, but I think it's cool that anyone from anywhere can eventually become a famous person in any kind of field.  Although, to be truthful, I guess after media, entertainment, politics and sports, there's not a lot of other fields that are really in the public eye.

I made it into Minnesota just a little after 2:00, and then got to Wisconsin about 7:30.  It started raining and there was construction, and that went a long way towards keeping me from getting home in a timely fashion, but I clenched my teeth and kept moving.  I hit Chicago around 1:00 P.M., and then spent the better part of an hour getting lost in construction detours.  I wound up in Calumet City and was largely disoriented until I found State Line Road, a residential street that runs North to South and is literally the state line between Illinois and Indiana.  I pulled into a Mobil gas station with huge overhead lights and consulted my road atlas, and found that I was only six blocks away from the 90 Thruway, which would take me the rest of the way home.  I was in a very bad neighborhood, and with the added rain and pitch darkness (very few streetlights for some reason), I was pretty scared for a little while.

I kept soldiering on, and made it to South Bend/Mishawaka, Indiana, before I decided that I better get some sleep.  It was pushing 4 A.M., and I figured that a couple of hours of sleep would do me good.  I pulled into a rest stop and parked among the truckers who were bedded down for the night in their sleeper cabs.  I slept until about 6:30 and then got back on the road.

By the time I arrived home, it was about 2 P.M., and I was tired, but thanks to Sugar-Free Red Bull, I was wide awake.  I had an argument with the clerk at the Angola Service Oasis about the addictive properties of energy drinks.  I took the stance that they were not addictive, although they probably are because caffeine is addictive, but she was a droopy little noodge who was so cocky I felt like I had to take her down a peg.

The thing that kept me really going on the whole journey (besides the energy drinks...I can quit whenever I want) was the phone calls to family, friends and loved ones.  I can listen to music, talk radio, or even books on tape, but nothing passes the time like good conversation.  I caught up with my brother Christopher and we talked for about an hour (my niece Olivia made daddy give up the phone so she could talk to me, too) and we discussed everything from our beloved Buffalo Bills to how our mother is doing, the tour, his new job and everything in between.  He recently picked up the movie "Second String" which was a made-for-TV movie about the Buffalo Bills and a fictitious season in which all their offensive starters got food poisoning and how a quarterback off the waiver wire helped lead them to the championship, despite a coach who didn't believe in him or want to give him a chance.  I asked Chris how he liked it, and he said he cried.  Well, we both did, so there's nothing to be ashamed about.  It's a pretty cookie-cutter sports film, but for Buffalo Bills fans, it's like a love letter...it gets you right in the chest.

Also, I spoke with comedy buddy/Los Angeles legend Steve Burr.  Steve is working on a radio show for Sirius Sattelite Radio called "The Three Things You Never Talk About," and he has asked me to be on the panel of his demo episode.  We're going to record it in Rochester with a live comedy club audience on Monday, June 26th.  The premise of the show is that it will be a panel-type talk show centering on politics, religion and sports.  I told Steve that the three things are actually politics, religion and sex, not sports, but it's freely up to interpretation.  Also on the panel will be Jaime Lissow (Jaime, Steve and I are performing at the Comix Cafe that week, so it's very convenient), and rounding out our group is Marianne Sierk and Mike Dambra, two very talented comics who are also friends of ours.  Mark Wiedmann, an emerging comic talent here in Rochester, has been tapped to be our "man in the street" taking audience questions.  It's a good group with a lot of excellent parts.

I got picked, not only because of my enormous comic talent, but because of my insight into politics and religion (I'm a ham 'n' egger when it comes to talking sports, but I can spit out cliche's with the best of them) and the fact that I'm a blustery blowhard with an opinion about everything and I'm not afraid to ram it down everyone's throat.  I don't mind that role; when I was in high school, the yearbook committee my senior year labeled me "chronic complainer," and if I can carve a show-biz niche for myself by bitching about current events, then I will.  I guess that the only thing I'm concerned about is that the panel will skew too hard to the left, with no dissenting viewpoint.  That can lead to a boring show.  I know Mike's politics, and he's along the same lines that I am, and maybe I'm judging Marianne and Jaime as being more left-leaning than they are. 

Truthfully, it sounds like an awesome show and I'm flattered to have been chosen to be on it.  I'm getting to work with some very funny people, and even though I'm a role player, I feel like the show will be richer for my contribution.  If you're in the Rochester area on Monday, June 26th and you're interested in attending the taping, let me know and I'll arrange for you to get in.  If you want more information about the show, Steve Burr is your man and I'll forward all inquiries to him.

O.K., the mundane task of laundry beckons as I get ready for my return to Greensboro, North Carolina this weekend.  I also want to spend some time with Pam and Harmony...it's good to spend time with the family; it reminds me why I'm doing all of this stuff.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

 

Breakfast In America

Breakfast In America                                      4681  (531)

Saturday, May 13, 2006-11:02 CDT

Whim Wham Woozle, bitches!

I'm sorry...that's a line from the Futurama episode that spoofs Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, where Fry, Leela and the gang go visit the Slurm factory, and when I woke up this morning, for some reason it was stuck in my head.  Also, Slurms McKenzie (the Ultimate Party Worm) didn't say "bitches," but it seemed to fit, so I put it in there.  It was in my head, and I had to get it out, so now you're stuck with it.  Deal.

It's a beautiful morning here at the International Inn in Minot, North Dakota, and so far, it's been a pretty good weekend.  The show Thursday night was well attended, but somewhere along the line, I had to fight for my life on stage because they just weren't digging what I do.  I called a table full of middle-aged women "bingo ladies," and they treated me like I was the Antichrist.  They were really offended!  The crowd was really chatty and unfocused, and even though I got laughs, it was still that ugly, "gotta take a shower" feeling after the show.  I didn't do what I usually do, there was no ingratiating myself to the audience, connecting with them, and I just started getting self-deprecating (not necessary) and abusive (also not necessary).  After the show, headliner Fred Bevill and I retreated to the Primo for a late breakfast and a chance to perform the autopsy on the show, and while he was quite apologetic, blaming the mc, blaming the audience, the duty to make them laugh rested squarely on my shoulders and I would not shirk the blame.

Friday, Fred and I met up and had lunch at a local buffet restaurant called the Royal Fork, which we thought might be a Chinese place, but was more like home-style cookery.  I had a nice salad, some fried chicken and mashed potatoes, and then we headed across the parking lot to the mall to seek out the movie theater.  We decided to check out Mission Impossible 3, and killed some time shopping before the movie started (we had about 40 minutes to kill).

After traipsing around the rather limited shopping mall, we got to the theater and watched the movie.  They showed about 100 previews, commercials, snack bar adverts, and all in all about half an hour's worth of stuff that was not the movie.  By the time the movie was actually over, I was fidgeting in my seat like a 5-year old at the DMV.

Now, I used to do movie reviews and the like (several years ago), and the temptation is to use this space to do the same, but there are others more qualified to do that, so I'll simply say that I enjoyed the film but wasn't overly impressed with the script, and leave it at that.  The experience gave birth to a bit that I used on stage last night, and it went over pretty well, and I may use it for the duration of the summer, or the film's run, whichever ends first (I'm betting on the summer to go the distance on this one).

Afterwards, it was back to the ranch to get ready for the show, and the hotel was already starting to fill up with Minot State University students and their families, the graduation ceremonies having commenced earlier in the day.  When I learned that the college was graduating, I figured that our show would be a big bust, with everyone's attention being drawn elsewhere, but I was assured that because graduation was during the day, we'd have huge crowds for our show at night.

We wound up having a decent show, but it was only half the room's worth, but the people were right on point.  They were focused and enjoyed the show, and I had a really good set.  It's very important for me to have a dynamite show right after a disappointing one, because I need to get the monkey off my back and prove to myself that I'm still funny.  It's obsessive, I know, but that's how I am and it's not like I developed that trait yesterday.  If I detailed for you the rituals I go through getting ready for a show, you'd think I was nuts (if you don't already think that now) and I wonder sometimes if I eliminated all of the things in my life that I do "just because," would I be happier?  And the answer is, "probably not."

After the show, which I should say, was fantastic all around, Fred absolutely destroyed, we headed back to Primo's for a late breakfast.  Our server, a middle-aged Asian lady with a surprisingly round rump (you don't see that ever, do you?) who was our server the night before, was flying around like a dead leaf in a tornado, even though there were only four tables seated in the whole restaurant.  Our service was friendly and polite, if not excruciatingly slow, but she gave us a $5 each discount, as she did the night before.  Apparently, there's a coupon that you get when you check in to the hotel, but it's only for the high-rollers who rent out the suites, and she said because we were the comics, we must have just forgot our coupons up in the room.  Sometimes, inefficient customer service works out in your favor.

Today, we have two shows, although the prospect of the late show actually happening is a little foggy.  If it doesn't come down, the question is there whether or not I start dog-legging it back to New York, or get a good night's sleep, start early in the morning, and hit the road with daylight and fresh horses.  I can't do a thing to make it happen one way or the other, so I'm just going to rest up today so that I can drive confidently that I haven't been awake all day and only have a few hours of energy reserves to get me closer to home.  I might hit the big North Dakota State Fairgrounds, which are right down the street, and check out the flea market that starts today.  It'll get me out of the hotel room to gets some air and a little walking-around excercise.

Have a great weekend, and I'll check in with you all later as to my travel plans.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Thunder and Lightning

Thunder and Lightning                              4660  (510)

Thursday, May 11, 2006- 4:44 CDT

Hello from Minot, North Dakota, on the other side of the Continental Divide (if you're an Easterner like myself) and the latest stop on the never-ending Ralph Tetta Comedy Tour.

Now, I don't wanna cry poor or anything, but the drive out here was 1,671 miles...I definitely have to learn to route better.  I left Rochester, NY after securing an oil change on my soon-to-be departed Toyota Corolla, and got moving around 11 A.M. on Tuesday, ready to make the charge towards the Upper Prairies of America and my final destination of Williston, North Dakota.

I took advantage of my time in the car by calling bookers with my cell phone, trying to secure work for the Fall.  I learned a couple of years ago that you have to keep on top of that sort of thing, or you wind up with big unemployed holes in your schedule.  I didn't get anything, but got in touch with a couple of folks that I need to contact on Friday for work.  It's all timing with the booking agents, you just have to be patient.  One booker confided in me that he booked three months of dates for a one-nighter that was on Thursday, and he booked it for Wednesday.  That's at least 24 comics that have to be called and notified that they're unemployed, and a possible 24 new calls to fill the dates....not fun, and I know because I've been there.

On the NYS Thruway, an asshole passed me at about 85 miles an hour.  I'm not calling him an asshole because he was 20 miles over the speed limit, I'm calling him an asshole because he had a HUGE Pittsburgh Steelers emblem on his back window.  Steelers fans are dicks, they used to gloat over their 70's Super Bowls like it was yesterday, now they finally won another one and we have to listen to them for another 35 years.  Swell.  I was overly sensitive about the speeding thing because I got two speeding tickets in two different states the last two months, so I was pacing myself as not to get into trouble.  The Steelers fan found himself pulled over about 20 miles down the road from where he passed me, and as I breezed by him at a respectable 5 miles over the speed limit, I gave him a little head nod....one for the thumb, if you will.

I didn't have to stop for gas until I was well into Ohio, and I noticed gas prices going down significantly from the New York State raping that I've become accustomed to.  I paid 2.71 a gallon for regular unleaded, and haven't seen it that cheap since.  The average seems to be hovering around 2.89 nationally, or at least up through Wisconsin, Minnesota and North Dakota.

I was planning on driving until I hit Minnesota, but just couldn't pull it off.  I got just past Eu Claire to the town of Knapp, Wisconsin, and had to pull into a rest area to get some sleep.  I wound up sleeping for about three hours or so, and got up as the sun was rising.  I noticed that a couple who had pulled in to the parking lot a few spots away from me had devised a clever system to keep their truck dark enough to sleep in...they put black plastic garbage bags over all their windows.  That's a trick that I'll have to remember.

I drove through Minneapolis and listened to some of the worst morning drive talk radio I've ever heard in my life.  The jocks were boring, uninspiring and repetetive.  Radio sometimes makes me laugh because it's the only field where if you fail in other endeavors (comedy, politics, show business), they welcome you with open arms.  It's a level of quasi-celebrity that attracts the folks who want to be well known and liked, but just don't have the tools to get it done themselves.  And I will be the first one to throw myself under the bus, because I worked in radio for a long time as a fledling standup comic because I thought it would help my career.  It didn't, and exhibit A should be that I was sleeping in my car in a truck stop in Knapp, Wisconsin.

I continued my drive through Minnesota, and by the time I hit Fargo, North Dakota, the rain had gotten heavy and my back tires, balding to the point of embarassment, had ceased to hug the road and I had to stop and get new ones.  I didn't want to spend the money, and I'm planning on getting rid of this car any day now, but I couldn't guarantee that I wasn't going to go sliding off the road into a ravine, so I bit the pillow and got two new all-seasons to the tune of 140 bucks.  The rain stopped and the skies cleared up exactly one hour later.  Still, with almost 2,000 miles still left before I got home, it was nice to feel secure that my vehicle wouldn't just go careening into oncoming traffic after a wheel exploded.

Later, I drove through the Little Missouri National Grassland, a national park that consists of a road going through a valley, but a valley filled with hills, if you can imagine that.  There were no guardrails, and the speed limit was 65 mph, and it was possibly the most dangerous road I've ever been on in my life.  Also, I had been in the car for 30 hours with only a few hours of sleep, and I was hallucinating.

I got to the hotel in Williston just a couple of hours before showtime, and I was able to check in, iron a shirt and have a nice, relaxing hot shower to get ready for the show.  I was upset that I didn't have time for a nap, but made up for it when I fell asleep while putting on my socks.

The gig was at a club across the parking lot from the hotel called P. Nuttz, a sports bar with bowls of peanuts on the tables and shells on the floor.  I met the headliner, Fred Bevill, and the owner of the club, Mike Smith, and we shot the breeze while the crowd trickled in.  At first, it looked like it was gonna be a real bomb, but the room filled up, and we started only about half an hour late (not a good sign, mind you, but the club was new so I forgave).  I took the stage, which was a triangle style job in the corner of the room, and noticed that dead center of the front of the stage, there was a steel pole.  Not thick enough to be a strip-club pole, mind you, but just thick enough to be in my way for the evening.  I used it to my advantage, leaning on it rather than holding myself up as I was devoid of energy caused by denying myself proper food and sleep for 30 hours.

The show was good and I sold one CD after the show, which was one more than I thought I wood.  Fred and I got along well, and it looks like it's going to be a good weekend here in Minot, which was only a couple of hours to the east (and went a long way toward sending me closer to home).  After I checked in, Fred and I ate lunch in the hotel restaurant, which I found out is open 24 hours a day.  That's a break, because it basically means I don't have to leave the hotel if I don't want to, and I don't want to because I got a great parking spot up front.

Crowds may be sparse at the show this weekend because Minot State University is holding their graduation ceremony on Friday night, and college towns usually become ghost towns after graduation.  Still, I'm happy to be working and I'll give the folks who show up the best performance I possibly can.  The local paper printed a list of the graduates by name and home state and town, and come to find out, there's a young man from Irondequoit, New York (just outside of Rochester!) who's getting his masters degree this weekend.  My other Rochester sighting this week was a guy in a blue Honda Civic that I passed (twice) on the route 94 who had New York plates, and a Dick Ide Honda license plate holder (Dick Ide being a car dealer in Rochester).

Viva La Raza!

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

 

Must Have Got Lost

Must Have Got Lost                       4612  (462)

Sunday, May 7, 2006-1:36 P.M.

Good morning, or afternoon as you may call it (I just woke up), and glad tidings today in the form of my weekend report from Niagara Falls, and the House of Comedy.

We had one show each night on Friday and Saturday, and I was accompanied each night by opener Ray Salah.  Ray's worked the club before, and it's nice not having to make the jaunt by myself, even though it's only a paltry 90 minute drive.

We left good 'n' early on Friday, expecting to get in early and enjoy a 50% discounted meal at in-house restaurant Jack Tanner's, except my directions were rendered useless by road construction, and I wound up driving through the butterfly conservatory and the Maple Leaf Village before I could actually find the AmeriCana Hotel (where HOC and J.T's are located).  We still had enough time to choke down dinner, and started the show just a little after 9:00 P.M. (the club's actual starting time) for the 40 stalwarts who showed up rather than watch the Sabres/Senators hockey game, which by all accounts was quite exciting, going into overtime and finally being won by the Sabres 7-6.

Ray did a great job, and then I hit the stage and did my usual prairie fire show, going off in all directions instead of being focused and delivering my material.  Truth to tell, I started out in that fashion, but didn't stick with the program because the audience just wasn't giving me back what I wanted, namely laughter and acceptance.  I finished strong, and we drove back to Rochester, or actually I drove back to Rochester, and Ray fell into a deep, Snow White-like sleep.

Saturday, I did yard work most of the afternoon, one of the benefits of playing close to home, and we headed out to Niagara Falls around 6:00 P.M., this time, bound and determined to get to the club nice 'n' early.  As we hit the New York State Thruway, I noticed a van in front of me with a bunch of bumper stickers, and I had to get close enough to read them.  One of them said "PatDuffy.Net," and Pat Duffy, I recognized, is another comic from Rochester, one of the youngsters just starting out, and I remembered that I tried to book him this week to host at the Comix Cafe, but he indicated that he wasn't available because he was working out of town with another local comic, Danny Liberto.  I jockeyed myself next to them in the passing lane and told Ray to visually identify them, and sure as shit, it was them!  I grabbed my cell phone and started a prank.

I called Pat on his cell phone, and he picked up.  "Pat!"  I cried.  "Our feature act at the Comix Cafe cancelled, and I need a middle.  It pays $200!  Can you do it?"

Pat sounded like I told him Christmas was canceled.  "Oh no!  I can't do it, I'm already working tonight!  I'm heading to Niagara Falls, and I'm halfway there!"

"Bullshit, you're not halfway there, I'm right in front of you, fucker, you just got on the Thruway!  Watch, I'm gonna roll my window down and stick my arm out!"  I rolled the window down, gave a wave, and Duffy knew he was bitched!  It was a mild prank, but fun nonetheless.  The four of us exchanged pleasantries, and we were on our way, Dan and Pat to the American side of Niagara Falls, and Ray and myself to the Canadian side.

We wound up missing the exit to the Rainbow bridge, and instead headed all the way to the Whirlpool bridge, and drove again through the butterfly conservatory and Maple Leaf Village.  We arrived an hour early and ate at Jack Tanner's again, but with a slightly smaller margin of time.

We were joined onstage by Marc Sinodinos, a Canadian comic who filled the middle spot, and Terry Parker, a headliner who came in and did a (25 minute) guest spot.  We all kept the audience rolling and had a good comraderie, even though the show was longer than a Stevie Wonder Grammy acceptance speech.

Before the show, I was still in a prankish mood, and I decided to jab Marc a little bit.  We'd worked together last year at a gig in Sherkston Shores, a resort area in Ontario.  The day before, Tony Gigliotti, the manager of the club, mentioned that Marc was coming in because he was dating Kendra, one of the cocktail servers at the club.  I wound up standing next to Marc and I said, "Kendra's gonna make a lot of money tonight, and she's gonna do us all!"  He didn't say anything, but went over to her and started whispering in her ear, and I called him over and let him know that I was in on the "secret" that they were dating, and that I was razzing him.  He was gonna try to have her kiss him as he dipped her to bust my chops, but I got to him first.  It was more light-hearted razzing, which is part of the comedy business that I enjoy.

The show was full-up, with a big bachelorette group in attendance, and I made the most of working them into the show, and there was one tense moment when a loud table-talker (drunk) in the back of the room was shouted down by another show guest who told him (loudly), "Why don't you go home?"  A few people in the room thought that it was being shouted toward me in some sort of anti-American way, as relations between the U.S. and Canada have been strained the last few years.  I worked through it with humor, and finished my set, and afterwards sold CD's, took pictures with guests and shook hands, my favorite part of the evening.

We got back across the border and stopped at the casino to do the currency exchange and were delighted to see that the Canadian dollar was trading at 88.5 cents on the U.S. dollar, an increase since the last time I visited the Great White North.  We then headed toward Buffalo to find something to eat, and wound up driving up and down all the roads around the Boulevard Mall, only to find the usual crappy chain open...AppleBee's, Tully's and the like.  We settled on a Greek diner where the service was polite but excruciatingly slow.  We got back into Rochester after 3:00 A.M., and I dropped Ray off, went home, and slept the sleep of the damned.

I have two days to ready myself for the big trip back to North Dakota, which I'm not looking forward to...26 hours one way to Williston, North Dakota.  I'm gonna make some money this weekend, but not much...$3.00 a gallon gas is gonna kick the hell out of my profit margin.  Still, it's a new room in Minot, and I'm looking forward to it.  Minot's a college town, and I'm wondering if being so close to graduation is going to affect our attendance this week.  Still, I'll make the most of it.

The next time I check in, I'll be in North Dakota.  See you then.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Welcome To The Working Week

Welcome To The Working Week                                         4559  (409)

Tuesday, May 2, 2006-6:56 A.M.

Hey, I'm back...did ya miss me?

My desktop computer crapped out last week, courtesy of a faulty video card, and while I could have used my laptop to post a new blog, I decided not to; I even left it home this past weekend so Pam could get some work done. As it stood, in Traverse City, Michigan, the hotel I was in was a rustic little vacation bungalow near Lake Michigan that didn't feature phones in the room, so not only was wireless not availabke, but I couldn't do the dial-up thing either. I didn't miss it for the few days it was out, but I know dedicated readers probably thought I was sick or in jail or something.

I took most of last week to recover from the Minnesota trip. Just catching up with a stack of mail, doing laundry, doing high-shelf duty around the house for my 5' 2" wife, and reacquainting myself with a hyperactive 2-year-old baby daughter were strenuous enough without adding the task of writing a journal entry and making my slug-a-bed lifestyle seem interesting. Before I knew it, it was Friday morning and it was up with the birds to make the 538 mile trek to Traverse City, Michigan.

The Other Place comedy club in Traverse, so named because the first club was in Saginaw, Michigan, is a club that's been around forever. Traverse is a vacation resort-type town on the north shores of Lake Michigan, and the club only runs in the winter when the visitors to the town have gone...explain that to me if you ever figure it out. It caters to locals, although actor Bruce Willis, who has a place just outside of town, never shows up. I'm a fan, and it always seems like a missed opportunity.

Jack Paupore, the owner of the club, is 1,000 years old and wears the pelt of a dead animal on his head. It's the worst hairpiece ever, insert your own punchline here. He's so old, insert your own punchline here. My favorite one was, Jack always asks, "Do you remember where you were when you heard Jesus was assassinated?" He's the cheapest man alive, and his club reflects that. The in-house sound system is an FM radio, and when the show starts, he turns the music up loud, and the opener of the two-man show goes up (no intro) and starts the show. Sadly, at the top of the hour of 8:00 P.M., most stations are still playing commercials, so sometimes you go up to a spot celebrating the stomach-acid fighting power of Di-Gel.

Our crowds this weekend couldn't even have been called that. If Bruce Willis showed up each night and brought 10 friends to each show, our four show total attendance might have climbed into triple figures. As he chose to stay away, our figures stayed in the kiddie-coaster numbers and no one got a nosebleed counting the receipts at the door. I did three shows that were pure crowd work, because no one was going to sit still and listen to prepared material. They were coarse, unsophisticated and rude people, and wanted to be harassed and carry on a dialogue with the performers rather than be entertained. I was a little put off, because I had the big cancer benefit in Battle Creek on Sunday night, and I wanted to tune up a little for that performance. I soldiered on, and got a nice compliment from Jack about how I got the people to move up towards the stage rather than sitting in the back of the room...of course, there's no one at the door to seat the people in this final frontier of comedy, so you have to strap on the leathers and prepare for the gunfight. The good news is that Jack wants me to headline his room next time I come back. The bad news is that I would have to go back.

The highlight of the trip was working with headliner Demetrius Nicodemus out of Toledo, Ohio, a good comic and friend. We hung out together and helped alleviate some of the misery of playing such an unsatisfying weekend of shows by having lunch together, talking shop and we even hit a comic book store and killed some time. I picked up a Justice League special that I didn't even know existed, written by comedian Patton Oswalt. I'm not a huge Patton fan, but the comic was great! It was one of those issues that you read, and then instantly want to go back and read again. Great stuff, if you're into comics, you should check it out. It's been out for a couple of years, but should be available in backstock at your local comic book shop.

Sunday, I made the two and half hour trip to Battle Creek in just under five hours, courtesy of a car accident on route 131 south that backed traffic up for miles. I sat patiently while I watched cars and trucks pull u-turns across the divider and head back northbound, and after a wait made tolerable by calling home and talking to Pammey, we were moving again, and even though a light rain was falling, speeds were maintained and I pulled into Battle Creek in time to relax at the hotel a little, iron some clothes and get a nice shave 'n' shower in before the 6:30 report time.

The show at Gary Fields's comedy club was to benefit Relay For Life, a presentation of the American Cancer Society, to raise funds for cancer research. The call out to volunteer for the show happened last November, and I threw my hat into the ring right away. I was awarded headliner status along with Bert "Chili" Challis, who I've worked with three times already in this year that is only four months in the bag. Other comics who participated were Kate Brindle, Dave Glardon, Germaine Gebhard, Bob Stackhouse, Barry Fuller and organizer John Face. Gary Fields did the mc honors and opened the show with a nice presentation, and we were off to the races. Dave opened the show strong, with a longer feature set, followed by Germaine and Bob, who both impressed the crowd with very powerful performances. There were some new, emerging talents on the show, but no one that you would call "rookie." The stage was set for me, and it was like taking candy from a baby. The show started late, and was long to begin with, so I did somewhere between 15 and 20 minutes and got off stage, after which they gave the audience a 10-minute intermission to use the bathroom, stretch their legs, or God forbid, smoke a cigarette outside. Which begs the question, who takes a cigarette break at a cancer benefit? That's some black comedy right there, for sure.

Matt Holt took the stage after the intermission, followed by sets from Barry Fuller and Kate Brindle, who had excellent audience response. Chili ended the show strong, and after everything was over, we shook hands, talked with folks who hung out afterwards, and posed for dozens of pictures. I signed audience programs and basically got more attention than I felt I deserved; I didn't volunteer for this because of the fame, I did it because cancer has touched my life in terms of two lost grandparents, a father who is a cancer survivor, and several friends who are also survivors. I voluteered for the event, and then worried about lining up work for the weekend after the fact, I felt so strongly about participating. Mark Kolo from Funny Business, the agency that books Gary Fields, was in attendance, and I hadn't seen him in nine or so years. It was nice to be able to hang around socially with someone that I do so much business with, as well as seeing Chili and Kate again, and meeting all the others for the first time, especially Dave who I've had so much contact with via the comedian chat boards online. The rewards were there, even if I had to dig into my pocket for gas and lodging to get to Battle Creek to do the gig, which thanks to Hysterical Management (who books Traverse), I didn't.

The ride home was seven hours, a cakewalk through Canada thanks to the purchase of acouple of cans of sugar-free energy drink who's name escapes me. I was totally against the energy drinks when they first came out, it seemed like such a fad, and how could those things be any good, but I've warmed up to them now that they come sugar-free. The taste is a little bit like over-carbonated Mountain Dew (I'm not a fan), but I'm sure through experimentation I'll find one that I like. The boost is really the draw for me, and two cans kept me up eight hours past my bedtime, and alert enough to navigate my way home in the dark. Not bad for three bucks, I say.

This week I'm gearing up for headlining spots at the House of Comedy in Niagara Falls, and I'm looking forward to it because it's close enough to drive up and back each night so I can spend some time at home, also I'm working with comedy buddy Ray Salah, which is always a bonus. The money is short, but that's the trade-off you make I suffer next week with a haul out to Minot, North Dakota, which is forever and a day to get to. I should have tried to route it with the week in Moorehead, Minnesota, but I was so happy to get the work from a new agency that I didn't even look at the map. Next year I'll be prepared and plan ahead.

O.K., I'm going to finish up here and get back to bed. I'm only up because of daylight savings time and the sunlight streaming through my window. Am I the only one who thinks we should reset the clocks so that the sun doesn't rise until about 9:00 in the morning? Even that's too early, because I get up at noon, but I'm thinking about the folks who have to punch a clock and be in during the "working week." I pity those folks, and could never be one of them because I hate coffee, alarm clocks, and pretending to like the people I work with and for.

Have a Nice Day, and if you're reading this at work, get back to work, you slacker.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY